Just another bullet
by ChaosValkyire
Summary: Hitman 47 takes on his most challenging series of missions yet...
1. 1 Just Another Bullet

In the end, there was a bullet for everybody. He'd always known, somehow always know that in the end, everyone had a piece of hot lead that belonged somewhere in their skull. With that thought, he pushed the final round into the 7 shot clip, then locked the clip into his trust silverballer pistol. The metallic snap of the clip resounded like a cannon shot in his ears, his brain instinctively following up by commanding his free hand to pull the slide back. The weapon clicked as the first round slid into the chamber. Like a million other days in a million other places, number 47 was armed and ready. He laid the pistol down next to its twin, the silver plating gleaming dully in the dim light of the cheap motel room. 47 reached into a small backpack he had, and removed the two silencers, quickly screwing them into place. When both the weapons were ready, he slid them almost gingerly into their shoulder holsters. He pulled his suit's coat on, and buttoned it up. Everything was in place, everything was ready. 47 stepped out of the nasty motel room, and walked slowly to the car he had rented. It was a BMW Z4. It was small and black, which made it easier to hide if need be, but the vehicle was considered classy enough to make him look inconspicuous at the party the target was attending.  
  
The car thrummed to life as 47 turned the key and dropped the transmission into reverse. His destination was a very high class hotel named "The Phoenix Tail". 47 pushed the vehicle into drive, and sped off out of the gravel parking lot, the hastily poured pebbles being launched every which way as the tires spun, then gripped, shooting him into the night. 47 drove for an hour solid, crossing over to the beach side. America was a very large area for his "business" but Florida was one of the few states he'd never been too. None the less, his meticulous preparation had prepared him for every possible scenario. He'd familiarized himself with the area, planned escape routes and located multiple "safe" zones should he be pursued. Time always seemed to fly when he drove, and before he realized it, he was slamming on the brakes to prevent from missing the turn to the hotel. As usual for such a "high class" event, there was armed security, a minor irritation, but not an unexpected one. 47 pulled up to a stop as the two guards at the gate waved for him to do so. He flipped up the forged ID card, and the guard waved him through. As he accelerated through the gate, he noticed that tonight's clay pigeons were armed with medium caliber semi-automatic pistols, Browning HP from the look of them. The chief turned the wheel and pulled the vehicle perfectly into a parking space, then silently exited the car, and began walking for the front entrance.  
  
Two more men were at the doors, and this time, they gave him a more serious check, staring at his ID card for at least thirty seconds. Finally, the big man looked up, nodded once without word, and opened the large front door. The chief stepped into a massive lobby, and he paused for a mere second as he surveyed the room. One door across the room was cracked, with a single eye peeking through, watching the guests. The man at the front desk looked like he was worried about loosing his job, but he was sipping on what appeared to be a whiskey. About thirty people were milling about, putting on their best "I'm richer and more civilized than you are" faces. The grand staircase had a few people standing on it making small talk, and no guards were posted on either of the two side doors. The chief moved, daring not to arouse suspicion by standing still too long. He approached the front desk, who appeared to be breaking out in a sweat when he noticed 47's approach.  
  
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Mister Aaron Stickman." He said politely. The man seemed to jump when he spoke, then quickly began flipping through the register. "Ah, yes sir! He's in room 707, shall I ring him for you?" the man asked with false eagerness in his voice. 47 shook his head no, and turned, heading into the crowd. He crossed through the middle of everyone, and then purposely bumped into someone who seemed to be having an exceptional time. "I'm sorry about that...could you direct me to the elevators please?" he asked apologetically. The man grinned and pointed across the room...pointing to some steel doors directly under the stairs, guarded by a single man. 47 walked calmly up the elevator furthest away from the guard and pressed the up button casually. Then, he did what most a-typical people did when waiting for an elevator. He looked around at the ceiling and floor and walls as if they held something of vast importance, as if they were utterly fascinating. Then, the lift pinged, and the doors slid open.  
  
47 pushed floor 7, and the doors slid shut. The elevator jerked, and he was being propelled upwards at an unusual rate. Several seconds later, he entered the seventh floor. He read the numbers on the doors quickly, and determined that his target's room was on his right hand side to the left of the elevator doors. He approached the door, and pulled his lock pick. Gently, he inserted the tool into the lock, and began to feel for the tumblers. It took him a mere 3.7 seconds to have the lock open. He put the lock pick away, and took a quick look down each end of the hall, discovered it was clear, and pulled out his pistols as he gently pushed the door in. He stepped in, and the long practiced maneuver of silently closing it passed without a noise. 47 took aim at the man on the balcony, both weapons aiming directly for the back of his skull...but then he got a better idea. The chief put his weapons away, and ever so slowly began to creep up behind the man. Silently, he slid the sliding glass door of the elegant balcony open, and when he was in position lashed out. His hands moved like a blur, and before the target could even register sound or movement behind him, his spine had been snapped, and he was dead. 47 then hefted the corpse, and shoved him over the edge of the balcony, watched him fall...fall...until finally he landed hard in the back parking lot on top of some kind of SUV...over 70 feet below.  
  
That was when the unexpected came into play. The chief heard someone yell "HOLY SHIT!" and knew he had about a minute to get out of the area before the guards went berserk. It would appear to be a suicide...if he evaded detection. If not, well...47 suppressed a grin. It had been some time since he'd had to shoot his way out of a mission. He almost missed doing it, and half hoped he would half too. He moved down the hall in a slow jog to the elevators, called on, and rode it down to the third floor. From there, he got off, and headed for a stairwell on the far right wing of the floor he was on. All went well until someone behind him shouted "Hey! You! Hold on a minute!"  
47 didn't have time to play games. He spun the two silverballer pistols in his hands. He fired a single shot from each gun. Each of the .45ACP rounds found their mark, tearing into the skulls of each man, and punching out the back, leaving a shower of gore and blood on the carpets and on their clothes. The two men fell, dead, and 47 moved to one to police his weapon for his ever growing gun collection. He shoved it into one of his suit's pockets, and entered the stairwell.  
  
Here, a very rare thing occurred. He was caught totally off guard. A whole squad of men, guns drawn, was charging up the stairs. One of them cried out an alarm as they spotted him. 47 didn't miss a beat; he raised the ballers and opened fire. His first two shots punched into the chest of the first man, and blew him backwards with explosive force, throwing him over the heads of his comrades, landing him hard on a small landing.  
  
But the guards had recovered, and opened fire. The pistols slammed rounds into the walls and door as 47 quickly retreated to the hall, sprinting as soon as the door was shut. He rounded a corner, and quickly pulled his lock pick, forcing the door open. He stepped into the room and shut the door, and holstered his pistols, drawing his personal favorite weapon...a fiber wire. He stood motionless, waiting...and soon, someone slipped into the room, carelessly believing that he wasn't in the room...and then 47 struck. He lashed out with the wire, and wrapped it firmly around the man's neck. His airway was instantly constricted, then block, and quickly, he began to strangle as 47 turned and pulled over his shoulder, choking the life out of the man. He died within seconds, and 47 flipped him onto the ground, crouched, and began to strip him of his clothing. Next, he policed his weapon, and snuck into the hall, heading for the stairs.  
  
The front door guard was very confused, as he watched the bald guy walk out the front to "check the parking lot". He didn't remember any bald staff...he was just about to go after him when it occurred that some people get haircuts, and they sometimes shave bald. A minute later, a Z4 rode off into the night, and the guard knew that the assailant had escaped them...something beeped behind him and he turned around...and the first of twenty car bombs went off, the black of night lighting up like a fireworks show.


	2. 2 Three Second Fatality

47 was going deaf…only temporarily though. The top of the Z4 was down as he flew down the highway at close to 140mph, his eyes were locked steady on the road ahead…and the pair of headlights behind him that was slowly creeping forward, and had been doing so since he left the hotel his last target had been at. His next objective was in a small town called Vero Beach on the east coast of Florida. The car flew down I-95, and the vehicle following him drew ever closer. 47 floored the accelerator, and the RPM's slowly began to climb. With his right hand, he drew one of his silverballer pistols, and placed it on the passenger's seat. He was certain it would end up a shoot-out, but seeing an exit ramp, he had an idea. He slowly drifted towards the off ramp as if he was going to exit, then killed the car's lights, being sure not to touch the brakes, but letting off the gas to bring the exhaust noise down. He shot past the ramp, and kept his eyes on the rear-view mirror. His plan worked brilliantly, the tailing car flew down the ramp, braking hard to prevent a roll. 47 counted to 5 after he cleared the over pass, and turned the lights back on. Scant few vehicles were on the road, except for a few semi trucks. 

After another five minutes, 47 took the exit onto Indrio road, making a left. He flew down the street well over the posted 45mph speed limit, until he came to an intersection, making another left, then turning into the plaza to stop at the fast food place. He parked the BMW, and put the top up, locking the doors, being sure to get his other gun off the seat. He walked around behind the restaurant quietly, and double checking no one was looking, he hopped over the small fence. There, planted next to the roof access ladder, was a suitcase with the Hitman logo on it. 47 picked it up, climbed back over the fence…and saw three teenage boys with skateboards staring into the windows. 47 grinned, and touched the lock button on the keyless entry. The car's horn sounded, and the three jumped back in surprise. He came around the corner, and asked "can I help you boys?" in an annoyed tone. None of them said anything, and just took off at a run. 47 climbed in, started the engine, and headed north. Finally, he came to a neighborhood called "Holiday Pines". He turned in, and made the first right, following the road down past the curve and too a somewhat large house that had 3 vehicles in the driveway.  
Two of them were unspectacular, the other was a Red 1999 Mitsubishi Eclipse, and its driver was the target. 47 killed the lights and parked the car. He opened the briefcase to find his equipment, a car bomb, and an advanced detonator, set to go off when the vehicle entered 5th gear. 47 approached silently, and planted the bomb in the large, carbon fiber, chrome exhaust tip.

He reached deep into the exhaust pipe, and planted the bomb, along with the advanced detonator that would detect a 5th drop off of RPM's. The next device in the suitcase had been a satellite controlled remote camera. The chief moved to the mailbox, and placed the camera on the post just under the box. A tiny red light that was barely visible came on, and then shut off just as it appeared. The chief now had a long wait in store for him as he had to confirm the target's death. He got back in the Z4, and went out the neighborhood the same way he came in, turning left to head north. After a short trip, the road curved to the right, leading to and heavily damaged gas station that was barely in order after the hurricanes. He pulled in, parked the Z4, and killed the engine, setting a simple watch alarm for 9AM, when the Target supposedly was leaving for work. 47 closed his eyes, waiting…

The alarm went off at 9, and 47 opened his eyes promptly. Traffic was flowing steadily to his right on US1, and it was about time for his target to leave. He waited for an hour, and there was no explosion…then, to his disbelief, his target's vehicle rolled up to the light. 47 was amazed, the bomb had been a dud. He reacted quickly, and pulled his guns, jumping out of the car, and opened fire. The first shots blew the right side tires open, and the second and third punched into the glass, shattering the passenger's window. The objective was a young man, about 18 years of age, with sloppy brown hair and blue eyes.  
The third round from each pistol both punched into the side of his head, blowing his brains onto the driver's side window, and spraying blood and gore, with bits of grey matter onto the door as well. The kid sunk dead, and 47 got back in the car as people sped away. Less than 5 seconds had elapsed. He quickly pulled across traffic heading north bound…when the red and blue lights came on behind him, an amplified voice yelling at him to stop immediately and surrender. 47 had no time for local law enforcement. He slammed on the gas, and the BMW rocketed forwards. Traffic was moderate at this hour, and he dodged cars, changing lanes as more officers began to join the chase. His speedometer read 125 as he shot through a major intersection at Oslo road, a helicopter circling overhead. 47 licked his lips and gripped the hand-break.

The car's tires squealed as he pulled it home and dropped into neutral, cutting the wheel to the left. The vehicle spun around in a tight circle across the median, and into the southbound lane. More than 5 police vehicles went sailing past him as pulled into the local Chrysler dealership. He slammed on the breaks as he drifted the car around the back of the building, leaping out into the grass as the BMW slammed into a concrete pillar.  
He drew his pistols and quickly attached the silencers to both of them. Cop cars rolled into the dealership, the helicopter circling overhead, and he could hear them fanning out quickly. 47 stayed crouched in a clump of bushes, watching as they moved to the car, armed with shotguns. SWAT units wouldn't be too far behind, but he'd given them a good amount of space to search…around and under every car in the dealership…and oddly enough, the RV's parked nearby. 47 simply turned around, holstered his weapons, and jogged through the bushes. He came to a small animal clinic at the next light, and moved into the parking lot, eyeing for a good fast car. He spotted just what he needed, the back of the small roadster saying "CROSSFIRE SRT-6".

Just as he climbed over the locked doors…on a convertible with the top down, a man yelled "FREEZE"! 47 turned, and saw the officer aiming his handgun at 47 from about 70 feet. 47 didn't even hesitate, he drew with his right hand, and fired. The .45ACP round blew the officer's knee apart, and he dropped, screaming. Sirens wailed as the police came screaming in towards the clinic, but 47 was already quickly pulling out, north onto Old Dixie road. He punched the throttle, and the roar of a supercharged engine came to his ears. 47 saw SWAT cars closing up with him quickly, and he calculated that to reach his destination without a tail he would have to loose them or else eliminate the entire tail. He turned, and fired a single shot. The bullet caught the driver of the lead car in the face, and his vehicle careened out of control to slam into oncoming traffic. 47 took a quick right past a big red building labeled "J and J Auto works", and nearly gulped as he saw a dead end…then got an idea. He left the car running at the end of the cul-de-sac, and ran back towards the car shop. It was closed on Sunday, so no one was there and the gates were locked, but 47 climbed over the fence and dropped behind the body of a horribly rusted 92 thunderbird. The cops sped into the cul-de-sac seconds later, surrounding the place. 47 saw a door near an air-conditioning unit, and pulled his lock pick. He quickly got the door open and entered an employee locker room. He moved to the left, into a garage, where several cars were parked, one on a lift. 

47 moved quickly to the front of the building and found a phone. He dialed a memorized number, and quickly, his employer picked up. "Yeah." He said bluntly. "Target number two eliminated. The bomb was a dud, I shot him, but SWAT is after me." He said simply.  
There was a brief pause, then… "I understand. Excellent work eliminating the target. Contact me once you're clear of a tail for your payment and next assignment." He said.  
47 hung up. Just as he was about to start looking for the keys to some of the cars he saw, he heard men moving through the shop. 47 drew his pistols, and loaded fresh clips into them. Just as he turned around, a SWAT man came around the corner…and had two bullets blow his head apart. The body flew backwards into a display case, shattering the glass and spraying blood and gore all over the wall, his grey matter smeared across the front of his black armor. 47 grabbed his boots and hauled him into the small room he was in, stripping him quickly.

When he emerged, he was wearing a full SWAT uniform, and had the protection of Kevlar armor, and was now in possession of an MP5. He made sure the ski mask covered his face, and moved out into the hall, jamming the door with a chair inside. To his right, someone shouted "CLEAR!" 47 swallowed hard and yelled "CLEAR!" as well. He moved back into the first garage, and saw another SWAT man with a large pump-action, 10 gauge shotgun. 47 crouched, and moved behind a small Civic, moving slowly. Putting the MP5 over his shoulder, he pulled the silverballer, and took aim. He fired one round, and the bullet went cleanly into one temple and out the other, scattering blood and bits of bone across the conveniently red colored car lift. 47 jogged to the man's body, and quickly stashed under the car, policing the shotgun, stashing it in the underside of the vehicle on the lift. With that he stepped outside, seeing the gate open and a SWAT van parked at the bottom. Quietly, he slipped out of the compound, and headed back towards the Chrysler. It appeared that the majority of the forces were looking in the woods and the other buildings. 47 wanted to chuckle as he jumped into the Crossfire and sped away from the scene…


End file.
